Forgotten Crusade
by bluedog96
Summary: There were numerous crusades against the Lich King-only one succeeded. One became well-known for massacre while others faded out of legend. He never wanted to return. She never wanted him to leave. They never wanted things to end like this. In the end, it is all forgotten with the passage of time.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Ok, so a heads up, I might have gotten some lore wrong when I was writing this but I did my best to match up timelines and ensure it was as close as I could. I was playing my death knight and decided to go a bit astray from the usual DK "Ebon Hold" scenario. I used the name of my BE paladin but she's nothing how I imagine her when I rp (her rp is actually a vile personality).**

**I was reading lore and it only mentioned a few times when people tried to stop the Lich King's uprising after his period of dormancy. So, I decided to make a peace like this. I apologize if they seem sue-ish thought when I wrote this they were relatively reasonable. I imagined Vynardrian to be around level 60 when he goes to fight—capable of handling himself in the Outlands but not in Northrend. **

**In other words, just a slight cut above the average foot soldier. **

**WARNINGS: OC-centric, death, cheesy fantasy lines**

**1. The Forgotten Crusade**

The rich hues of deep red, burnt orange, and mellow yellows had long soothed Vynardrian in his states of distress as he was currently. The vivid colors of the forest were familiar and the plants hummed with the magic imbued into the wild plant life. His small house, laden with marble and crimson arcane crystals, rested just outside of Fairbreeze village and offered a stunning view of the landscape. Still, the blackened Dead Scar left behind from the Lich King would forever mar the landscape.

"Dear," Lumintha, his beautiful wife and fellow Blood Knight Paladin, called out to him. With grace found only in his blood elf kinsmen, she sauntered over and wrapped warm comforting arms around his neck. Her platinum hair tickled his senses and the smell of cherry and vanilla washed over him. "Your next shift is in an hour. If you ever hope to repair the landscape, you need to rest."

"How can I rest when there are reports of the Scourge becoming more active?" He sighed and rested his head in the palm of his hand. "They say the Lich King is about to make his move again."

She swung around in front of him and stuck a slender finger on his lips. His wife was strange. Everything from her fragile beauty to the unusual name by all race standards to her abundant kindness in Sin'dorei standards—it endeared him to her even more. He pulled her into his embrace, resting his chin on her head, not wanting to let her go.

"You are one of the few who remain able to call upon the light whose power does not wane. You are a Blood Knight. If anyone can survive an attack from the undead, it is you. Do not count yourself out before the battle even begins. Did we not venture to the Outlands together? Did you not carry yourself against the Burning Legion with strength and pride befitting of a Sin'dorei?"

"Do you not understand?" Vynardrian's grasp tightened. "I could not bear to bring suffering on my family. Our daughter and son, what will happen to them? Most of all, I will be leaving you to suffer and care for them in my absence."

"Vynardrian, I have a request." Her voice dropped low—she was serious. "Do not worry for my safety. You forget that I am a commander in the Blood Knights. I have my ways. And you—you guided us to safety when Quel'thalas was ravaged by the Scourge," She paused at the expression on his face. "And don't you even dare say it wasn't. Yes, you were rescued by a human, but he ran off on his own…"

Vynardrian held up his hand, silencing Lumintha before she could speak. "That's the other thing." His luminescent green eyes gazed deeply into hers. "Alashear is to be accompanying me. There have been fleets of crusaders journeying to Northrend to assess the situation. Lady Liadrin sent word to Grand Magister Rommath. We are joining in a combined effort with the Order of the Silver Hand despite the racial tensions. I believe the Argent Dawn had a hand in this since the stirring of the Scourge of late."

Lumintha's hand edged its way up to her mouth as she released herself from his grip. Smoothing out her silken red robe, she gave brief glance at the Dead Scar. "I'm going with you."

"No!" He yelled. Seeing her wince, he retracted in a gentler tone, "…no." He clenched his fists in anger. He would be no better than the other races if he allowed her to sacrifice herself on the field. Vynardrian knew of her intense hatred of the undead. They had robbed her of home and family. She had as much of a right as he did to kill the hateful beasts. "I have been foreseeing a terrible future as of late. That is why I cannot allow you to go."

"I see I cannot change your mind."

"No." Her clothes rustled softly as she dug around in her sewn pockets. They didn't match the dress, but she was always about practicality. 'I always need to be prepared for daily life. How can I with no pockets? I'm not keen on carrying a purse that can easily be stolen,' she would say. Her perfectionism made her the best Paladin healer in the Blood Knights. Held daintily in her hand, as if it would break with a mere touch, was a silver locket. The edges were outlined with a soft red color. She held it out for him to take.

He swept it from her hand and held it curiously in his hand. "Consider it a protection talisman from me. I always keep on my person should something happen to me. If you are ever in trouble, I will be right by your side." He flipped the locket open. Inside was picture of him with his wife and children. There was Larrastus, an aspiring hunter, and Astrada, his beloved daughter who learned the arcane magics in search of a cure for their addiction to magic. On the inside of the locket, there were words inscribed with Lumintha's elegant handwriting.

_The light does not abandon its champions, but despair can conquer even the light._

_Hope for a new dawn, and you shall persevere with the Holy Light's guidance._

_For future generations, fight on in the face of terror._

"This is a spell you made." Lumintha strung the silver keepsake around his neck, the cool metal chilling his warm skin.

"Yes. I modified the healing properties and protection into a locket form. It can only be used once, but you can replace the spells each time. It is extremely powerful, able to bring you back from the brink of death, but volatile. If it activates, seek aid as soon as possible. I do not know how long it will last before the wounds reappear. It is no substitute for a proper healer."

"I understand." The locket meant the world to him. It must've taken hours for her to craft as well as a pretty coin. He gently brushed the locks from her face and kissed her deeply. Pulling away, he gazed her sadly, hand resting on the side of her cheek. "I must pack. The captain already knows I will not be holding my position at the Dead Scar for some time." Lumintha gave him a sad smile. No words had to be said.

…

He had long retired his sword and shield, taking up common weapons of which he bore no attachment to and could just as easily lay to rest. He held a high rank for being relatively young, but the horrors he had witnessed drove him to set his blade down at the end of the battle against Illiadan and Kael'thas's betrayal. There was no perfect peace—the Horde and the Alliance still fought in conflicts across Azeroth—but he had retreated back to Eversong Woods. His time was better spent renewing the forest in the relative peace found in the woods. He saw the undead on a daily basis, but the combat was more relaxing and venting on lowly pests—hardly a challenge—than it was a sheer fight for survival.

Now, brought out of his peaceful position among the ranks of the foot soldiers, he would be commanding an army. It was a simple blade he had forged by Aledra Brightflare. At the time they had both been ambitious—she an aspiring blacksmith and him an upcoming captain in the Blood Knights. Fashioned with the universal colors of the Sin'dorei and forged with Felsteel he had swiped during his excursions, the magnificent blade procured the name Fireguard for its prowess in cutting away the flames of the Burning Legion.

His shield was equally powerful. With outstretched wings, it resembled the Blood Knight symbol. Few held finer weaponry than him. He had bankrupted himself forging the weapons, but he had made a name for himself among the Blood Knights and quickly regained what he had lost upon his initial investment. 'I forged it by the light of dawn,' Aledra Rhalen had told him, "I shall call it the Dawnforged defender! If it works well, I may even sell it to others…' It had worked perfectly and soon Eldara Dawnrunner had begun selling it for approximately thirty gold pieces—a hefty price—but none were as good as his. Aledra had meant it when she forged the best for her best customer.

Donning the traditional Blood Knight tabard and armor, he distinguished himself from his peers. The boat to Northrend was already being loaded when he arrived. Due to Eversong's proximity to Northrend, the Silver Hand and the Blood Knights had chosen to launch from Sunsail Anchorage. The wretched had been cleared out about one month ago in preparation for the takeoff. The Silver Hand was not so easily trusted, however, and the Magisters and Sunstriders kept an eye from the sidelines.

"If it isn't Commander Vynardrian Coldsorrow." A tenor voice called out to him from the bow of the ship. Alashear, decorated in the traditional armor of the Alliance, stood atop it.

"Captain Alashear Ashton. It's a pleasure to see you! It has been quite some time hasn't it?" Alashear jumped from the bow to land in front of Vynardrian with a thud and big grin. "Did you really have to jump from that high?"

He stood up with a groan and clapped a hand on Vynardrian's back in a show of good will. "I did indeed. Where's the fun in simply walking down the plank? Besides, it is rather busy right now. I would hate to interrupt the smooth flow when we have to leave in an hour."

"Ah, of course. At this rate, I dare say we will be ready in thirty minutes. I must be seeing you." Vynardrian casually dismissed Alashear with a wave. He had to get settled into his quarters before giving a rallying speech to the crew. Setting everybody's mind at ease would be his first job. Everybody was counting on him.

…

Alashear silently retreated below deck. Vynardrian had everything handled for now. He headed to his chambers, his solitude after the bustling day, to record the proceedings in his captain's log. All the high ranking officers were required to keep a log in the case of an attack or unexpected event. They had proven helpful in many cases of betrayal and kidnappings.

_Log of Alashear Ashton, second in command of the joint Silver Hand – Blood Knight operation_

_I met Vynardrian once more after a year's absence from my monthly diplomatic excursions to Silvermoon City. I suppose I should feel happy that I finally get to say hello to my dear friend after such a long time, but I can't help but feel disdain. I fought Vynardrian and dare say that I am the better swordsman, yet he was chosen as the commander for political reasons. Yet again he is going to make a name for himself while I stand idly on the sidelines once more. I'm sure the Alliance and the Order will find no fault in this reasoning._

_I'm sure his headstrong wife did not enjoy being left behind. He always had her safety in mind when they fought together, and she is powerful indeed; however, she is not offensive in nature. Perhaps that will change one day, but only time will tell._

_We set sail at 10 hours on the dot._

_…_

The biting chill of Northrend should have been enough to scare potential invaders from the continent. The human population that braved the wild lands had long perished and dwindle under the relentless assaults of the Scourge, magnataur, and other hostile creatures the roamed its icy lands. The few that remained alive holed themselves behind stone fortifications or were held captive as slaves.

Vynardrian posed himself before the crowd of onlookers. Dwarves, Dranei, Humans, and Blood Elves all united in one cause: to establish a neutral stronghold at the base of the Lich King's domain. They had to gain ground before the Scourge became too active or it would be nearly impossible. He raised Flameguard in the air. Silence reigned over the ship.

"Men and women of the Alliance and the Horde—of the Silver Hand and the Blood Knights—today is our reckoning. The icy lands of Northrend bear down upon us! Make no mistake—this will not be easy. It will be harsh, unforgiving, and merciless. If you should fall in battle, you will not receive an honorable burial bequeathed upon you in the homeland. We cannot allow the Lich King to raise more bodies into undeath."

"Do not let this prospect deter you from eliminating the corruption from the land. If you allow fear to consume you, not even the light can protect you. The light does not abandon its champions! By the light, we shall establish a base. We do this not for ourselves. Do not mistake this crusade for justice or revenge in the name of the light. We fight so that others may have a future! We fight for our freedom and our families! Are you with me?"

The crowd roared in approval, fists raised eagerly to the sky. "I see you are all well prepared. We will be landing in ten minutes at the base of the Howling Fjord. Prepare for battle!"

"Yes sir!" The soldiers rushed off eager to complete their tasks. It bolstered their courage knowing that a hero of the Outlands would be accompanying them on the journey. Vynardrian turned towards the Fjord in plain sight. Soon, he thought, I will be thrown into danger. His hand crept to the locket around his neck. I will return, he vowed, I have to. Yet his ingrained battle instincts told him this journey would not be fruitful. He would return ragged and decimated or not at all. The darkness that leaked from the continent could be felt even from this distance.

Somehow, he knew his final resting place would be beneath the snow of Northrend.

…

_Log of Blood Knight Commander Vynardrian Coldsorrow _

_Day 3_

_The initial landing went well. Fortifications were built and allocated within the allotted time estimation of four days and soon we shall begin shelter and food preperations. The land has begun to stir in response to our invasion, however, and drakes have begun flying overhead. Alashear told me of them. They are commandeered by the beings known as the Vrykul, a race believed to be extinct._

_If this is true, it means the Lich King has begun raising them into undeath. If they are alive, it is by the mercy of the Lich King, an improbable notion, or an alliance by which they raid the living until death raises them again. I must educate the men in their first battles in these lands._

_Day 23_

_Our forces are being worn thin. We have suffered few casualties under the careful tutelage of our senior officers, but the seclusion and constant battle has begun to take its toll. If we can hold out for another month, we can secure our place in Northrend. I am hoping the reinforcements can make it in time._

_I fear for Alashear's sanity. He has begun displaying signs of battle weariness. Paranoia seems to linger at the back of his mind, and I cannot drag him out of it. The Vrykul have been joined by Nerubians—spidery monstrosities—and the common ghoul. We still stand strong, but I fear the worst is yet to come. Our only saving grace is that the Lich King still lies dormant; however, I see the reports were true. A new war is on the horizon, and the entire world will fall into decay if it isn't stopped._

…

"Commander Coldsorrow, we must flee!" One of his fellow Blood Knights screamed at him from the top of the archer's wall.

"Retreat! Everybody to the ships! I will hold them off here!"

"But Commander Coldsorrow, if you do that…!" Vynardrian grit his teeth. The agony of breaking his vow tore away at his soul, but his men's safety came first. They had entrusted their lives to him. It was his duty and honor to ensure they got out alive even if it meant his own damnation.

_"The light does not abandon its champions._" He turned to Alashear and Ryner, his two captains from the Order of the Silver Hand. "All those who have nothing to lose are free to stay and fight. If you have a family or somebody waiting for you at home, I ask that you do not join me in the final stand." He raised his hand in the air. "All who are willing to join me raise your hands!" A plethora of hands rose into the air. Vynardrian winced internally. So many lives willing to be thrown away. "Alright, the rest of you retreat to the ships!"

_Boom!_ The sky lit up in brilliant flashes of white and orange as one by one their ships sunk beneath the sea. "NO!" Vynardrian screamed but reigned himself in when he saw one ship managing to flee the docks. They could live to tell the tale. His wife would know what had happened to him. His men need him to rally them. He turned with his head lowered, hand fiercely grasping his locket.

"Our retreat has been cut off. I do not believe I need to tell you that we will die here today. Our numbers have been overwhelmed and reinforcements never came. That is why we must fight so that they may sing of our valor in battle! We fight to our last breathe! Burn your fallen comrades with holy fire so that they may be saved!"

_If anyone is to be raised into servitude, it shall be me. I will fight till every bone in my body is broken. I will set the fields on fire so long as I am the only one who shall not gain eternal rest—I will be the only one to suffer._

"I'm afraid they won't be singing of your valor anytime soon, Commander."

…

The blade stung like ice leaving unbearable agony in its wake. Vynardrian let out a gasp of shock and pain as he grasped at the sword plunged into his chest up to the hilt. His clouded vision traveled from the blade to Alashear, whose grin sent shivers down his spine as well as a deep hatred. He had just condemned everyone here to servitude! To a fate worse than death!

"W-why…?" He croaked as he fell backwards into the shocked Ryner's arms. No one moved. People aboard the fleeing ship gaped in shock as their beloved commander fell, fatally wounded. Betrayal shone his eyes as he gazed at his former best friend. The man who had saved him once during the events of Quel'thalas had just ensured his death and was smiling about it.

"Why? You Blood Elves think you are so great. Every time a chance for greatness has come along, you have stolen the spot light. I lost faith in the light. But then, I heard of a new crusade being formed headed to Northrend. Such a grandscale political ploy could surely guarantee the victorious vast rewards! I thought I could get a spot as commander, but here you are with the position I coveted! If we are to die, I wanted to be the one to take your life. But it won't be swift. Oh no! I'll make you watch as all your men fall and get crushed before you."

"Ryner no!"

"YOU FOOL!" Ryner lashed out at Alashear. He crumpled to the ground in a heap, dead, the hilt of a dagger buried in his throat. Alashear's skillful hands never missed the spot between the armor—Ryner had charged to his death.

"Everybody else give a good show! Your commander's counting on you!" Alashear grinned at Vynardrian's paling features. He leaned in close and whispered to whisper in his ear. "I'll let you in on a little secret. I joined the Lich King long ago." Vynardrian's eyes widened and he clutched at his locket.

_I cannot be saved, but my wife can still save my men through this pendant! Holy Light, I beg of you! Shield them from this corruption!_

A bright light erupted from the locket. Alashear stumbled back in agony, hands grasping at his eyes. "What is this?!"

"Everyone!" Vynardrian rasped. "My wife gave us this salvation. Her pendant should last long enough to reach shelter. From there, head to Dragonblight. The dragon aspects may be willing to offer you aid." He coughed and spat up blood as the locket shot away from his grip. A divine shield erected itself over the platoon of soldiers who, while unwilling to leave behind their commander, heeded his word and shot off into the forests opposite the oncoming Scourge.

Alashear grasped the sword and wiggled the blade. "Argghh!"

"Vynardrian, your death shall not be swift." Vynardrian gave a cold smile. His limbs had already gone numb. Alashear was already fading in and out of focus, darkness encroaching in his peripheral vision.

_For future generations…_

The caring and loving gestures of his wife flashed in his mind. His children, frolicking in the woods, brought a gentle smile to his face. "I'm sorry…Lum…I couldn't…keep…" He felt so tired. The words slipped from his mind.

_I'm just going to rest now. Forgive me…I'm glad you didn't come._

There, on the cold ground, he gave one last exhale.

And departed this world.

**A/N: And that is part 1 of my two-shot! The ****_epilogue _****is going to be really brief from Lumintha's point of view.**

**This has been sitting on my computer for like 2 years for some rp I did in my head with my characters if they ever met ect. Why? Cause I get bored easily. So I wrote it down for reference on their background whenever I ****_actually_**** rped with them. **


	2. Chapter 2

**_2._** **Redemption**

_What did they do to you?_

War is hell—this cannot be denied. Whether you are horde or alliance, no one truly desires it. The races get used to it—they _expect _it—and in turn create their own conflict. Few are an exception to this rule and few can separate their true feelings from those of the constant conflict and the war lingering just beyond the borders of the peaceful forest. It is the plague upon the conscious—a scourge—just like the beasts they were fighting.

_For future generations…_

She plunged her blade deep into the black heart of the traitor human. Because of him! It's his fault, his fault, his fault…! It's all his fault her children were left without a father, why she sought out her vengeance and forsook the traditional ways of the light, and the _he_ was the reason why her husband became a twisted mockery of his former ideals—a death knight. "Any last words, _human_?" She sneered up at the rotting, walking corpse of Alashear. This thing was no longer a man but a monster and the light dictates that she should slay such creatures.

"And if I did? Would it make you feel better? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness? No matter what you say or do, it won't change the fact that you husband is dead," she flinched, grasp on the blade weakening, as Alashear whispered in her ear, "and _I_ was the one who killed him."

"You make me sick, filth." With a sharp wrench, she cut out his black heart and followed up the strike with a quick decapitation. She turned, tears streaming down her pale face and shoulders trembling, as the familiar figure filled her view. "Vynardrian…"

If he acknowledged her grief, he didn't show it in his body language or presence. The death knight, clad in impenetrable saronite armor and the chill of death, raised his runed blade in her direction. "So the expedition finally made it to Icecrown. "

_Fight on in the face of terror._

"The force is a hundredfold stronger than the one you led, Vynardrian."

"And yet," he smirked, "it is a thousand fold less united under the two _great_ leaders of the Horde and the Alliance."

_The light does not abandon its champions._

Except when it does. Shield in one hand, sword in the other, the battalion stood ready behind her for the final obstacle between them and the entrance to Icecrown. She would free Vynardrian's spirit here. She would free all the trapped souls here and purge the corruption from the world. She would have vengeance.

"Do you have anything you want to say before we begin?" Common decency, it seemed still held root within some part of his dead heart, twisted as it was.

"I'm sorry." It was all that needed to be said.

Sorry for letting you die alone.

Sorry for leaving the children.

Sorry for coming to look for you even though she knew that she might die in vain .

Sorry that she has to kill him now.

Vynardrian nearly collapses in laughter, a vile grin on his face, and Lumintha finally sees the extent of the corruption within his mind and soul. He can no longer be saved; the Ebon Blade will never see his service. "Too bad. I'm not sure what I expected. What a disappointment." He motions for the ghouls to stay back and Lumintha does the same with her own troops.

With the wind howling and a chill deep enough to freeze all the bones in the body, the pair lunged with a flash of steel.

**A/N: Who won? I'll leave that up to you guys. I hope you enjoyed this.**


End file.
